Cambridge Chimes

Cambridge Chimes

For whom do the bells toll?
A new generation,
making their exodus
from province and providence
to a new promised land

of late night shopping,
cars and careers,
traffic jams and tears,

and loss at the realization
that this ‘land of milk and honey’
is not all it’s cracked up to be.

Thursday Poem

Thursday Poem

The clock chimes every quarter hour.
My watch doesn’t agree – on strike,
it’s ticking backwards.

‘Light Moisturising Handcream’
tries in vain to hide
the troughs in skin
and bridge crevasses:

Like an ice bridge, it’s temporary
and not to be trusted
with the weight of a life.

The clock strikes four.
It’s cold outside.
Another Winter, on its way.